


Family Values

by Simara



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Only One Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-17
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2020-12-28 13:37:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Simara/pseuds/Simara
Summary: There is a wedding at Moorland house and Peter isn’t invited. Not that he’s going to let that stop him from attending…Or: The one where Martin and Peter crash a wedding, get stoned and talk about boys.





	Family Values

**Author's Note:**

> Canon divergent after MAG 151 “Big Picture”. 
> 
> Light content warnings for homophobia between family members, child neglect, assault, anxiety, body shaming and canon typical Loneliness.

They made port around 7pm. It was a rather dreary day and even the white cliffs of Dover, impressive as they were, failed to turn the atmosphere less depressing. There was a tight feeling in Martin’s stomach, a sickening mix of anxiety and anticipation. He hadn’t talked to Peter since they’d boarded the ship. It was probably better that way given how Peter’s company tended to make him hurt even worse in the long run, almost like scratching an itch till it bled. Despite this, Martin couldn’t help but be relieved when Peter finally joined him on the pier. The last thing he wanted right now was getting stranded in Dover. It was ridiculous, really, that Peter had insisted on going there by ship. But, Martin supposed, it shouldn’t surprise him that Peter would rather complicate their journey than suffer through two hours in a crowded coach.

“Ready?” Peter seemed exhausted anyway, as though Martin’s sheer presence on the ship had drained his energy. Maybe it had. Weirder things happened these days. Martin forced a smile.

“Sure. You’ve got the luggage?” Peter nudged one of the duffle bags with his foot.

“All here.” He hadn’t allowed Martin to bring his own clothes. Apparently his jumpers were ‘cute but not appropriate’. Martin hadn’t found the energy to argue. He felt like that a lot lately. Peter insisted on carrying both their bags while they made their way towards a black limousine. The driver was already waiting for them with a sullen expression. He nodded sharply towards Peter without acknowledging Martin at all. Martin could feel Peter shift under the man’s gaze and distantly wondered if he was an employee or a relation. The driver took his seat with a grunt. He hadn’t even bothered to open the doors for them. Peter was more forthcoming, ushering Martin in as soon as he’d put their bags in the boot.

Martin knew that the drive would take little more than an hour but it still felt much, much longer. He tried talking to Peter a couple of times but he just shrugged and continued to stare out of the window, watching empty fields and ragged cliffs rush past. Martin was pretty sure that their driver was exceeding the speed limit. Since there wasn’t much else to do, Martin began to check his phone every now and then. He should write Jon, tell him were he was. Just to make sure someone _knew_, in case something happened. To make sure Jon was okay. Who knew what he might get himself into during Martin’s absence? He didn’t write, in the end, not because he made a final decision but rather because he lost reception about 5 miles from Moorland House. His wifi stopped working pretty much around the same time. He couldn’t bring himself to be surprised. He glanced over at Peter who was long past initiating conversation. Earlier that day, Peter had still smiled and waved and chattered if addressed but it had long since frayed around the edges. Martin couldn’t help but think about the things Simon Fairchild had told him, that Peter didn’t do well in extended conversations, grew secretly anxious when pushed to perform his act for too many people. It was easier to recognize now that Martin knew what he was looking for and it would have caused him a twinge of sympathy if it hadn’t been Peter’s fault that they were here to begin with.

He could still hear their little conversation replay in his head. It had started harmlessly enough with Peter locking himself out of his email account – again. Martin had helped him begrudgingly while Peter had chattered on, mentioning an upcoming wedding and something, something, Lonely, something. Martin had nodded without really listening and when he turned around to proclaim the problem fixed, Peter’s gaze had been resting on him with an expectant expression. Martin had felt a little guilty for not listening so he’d attempted a nervous smile and asked:

“Sorry?” Peter had taken it as encouragement, picking up where he’d presumably left off.

“You would think that being a confirmed bachelor in a family worshipping the One Alone might get you some special treatment but Uncle Nathaniel is very particular about spreading the dynasty.”

“Uhm, okay, but what has any of that to do with me?”

“Well, you see, I might not have received an invitation to my niece’s wedding, but I did receive a letter informing me that I was free to drop in if I found a _suitable_ plus one.”

“So do you want me to set up a dating profile, or…?” Peter had seemed a bit taken aback by that suggestion and answered, as though it was the most natural thing in the world:

“No, I want you to pretend that you’re my fiancé to spite the family. I thought you might rather enjoy that.” And truth be told, Martin had found the prospect appealing indeed. It seemed an innocent enough way to rebel against one of the Powers that had terrorized him these past few years. Besides, he could use some distraction from the dire, dull reality that was his life right now.

*-*-*

Moorland House, Martin decided, was a rather deceptive name for the monstrosity that lay before him. It must have been a traditional country manor once but the base structure had long been enlarged with wings and annexes in various styles. Most of them seemed dull and modern, build for convenience rather than show. Peter gave Martin a knowing look as he opened the gate for him. The gardens were grey and lifeless, the lawn meticulous but the flowers in desperate need of water. Martin had to fight the urge to empty his water bottle in one of the rose beds. Peter noticed, of course. He waved dismissively.

“Nothing grows here”, he said and led Martin towards the front door. It was a heavy oak construction and Peter had to use both hands to push it open. The inside of the manor was surprisingly modern. The entrance hall was kept in washed-out whites and greys, the few pieces of furniture right out of an IKEA catalogue. Martin was still trying to take it all in when he heard footsteps rushing close and felt Peter stagger next to him. He turned to look and wasn’t quite prepared for the picture before him:

A little girl had thrown herself at Peter, hugging his legs in a flurry of grey skirts and blond pigtails. She was about 8, maybe 9 years old and when she looked up at Peter her eyes were rimmed red. Peter put a finger to his lips and smiled conspiratorially. Then he produced a small candy bar from his coat pocket and presented it to the little girl who snatched it up and hid it behind her back.

“Off you go now”, Peter said in a voice that would have been stern if he hadn’t winked at her. The girl smiled and hurried away, clutching her gift tightly.

“What – What just happened?”

“Evelyn. My youngest nice. I promised her a treat if she made it to my next visit.”

“M-made it?”

“She’s been struggling to keep silent,” was all Peter offered in way of explanation, even though Martin’s horrified expression was clearly begging for context. Peter waved dismissively. “Not now, Martin. Please.” He gestured towards one of the empty corridors: “After you. We’ve got the Blue Wing.”

The Blue Wing, it turned out, wasn’t an actual wing but rather a third story plastered on top of a pre-existing wing sometime during the 1920’s. The blue tiles on the stairwell looked a little tacky, even to Martin’s taste, and he was rather relieved when the bedroom Peter led him to looked pretty non-descript. It was still larger than his entire flat, mind you, but it seemed non-threatening enough. Peter let their bags flop down next to the bed unceremoniously, stretching his shoulders which must have been tense from the weight.

“Home sweet home”, he said without much enthusiasm. Martin glanced at his phone. Half past eight. Still no signal. He let himself sink onto the bed without bothering to take off his shoes. It was surprisingly bouncy. He looked at Peter expectantly.

“So? Where is everyone?” Peter seemed amused by the question.

“In their rooms, I would assume. Why?”

“The house just… it seems so empty. From what you’ve been saying there must be a hundred guests staying here and yet –“

“It is a big house”, Peter injected, “and a Lonely one, at that. You’d be amazed how little one has to see one another when living here.”

“Is that why the girl was crying? Because she-”

“Martin-“

“I _know_ that you don’t want to talk about it, Peter, but you can’t expect me to just, just watch all of this and not ask questions!” Peter scoffed a little.

“You’ve spend too much time working for the Eye.”

“I’m right, aren’t I? You’re just leaving them in this house and bugger off into Forsaken and punish them if they talk to you? That’s… that’s sick.”

“Careful. That’s my family you’re talking about.”

“I thought you’d – I know you’re a monster but I didn’t think you’d let anyone treat your _family_ like that.” Peter let out a long breath. He considered his words carefully before he spoke.

“I was born in this house, Martin, and I intend to die here. I might not agree with everything Nathaniel does but it is not my place to question him. What would you have me do? Open a wayward house for avatars with growing pains? They are lucky, really, to be raised in a family that supports them in their journey. I have met others like us, all around the world. Can you even imagine what the Lonely’s claim feels like to someone who doesn’t understand it? The family has given us a gift and we ought to value it. Our patron makes us strong. Half of those pledged to the Lonely wouldn’t have made it past 30 without its embrace. And now? We might not live forever – and if you ask me that’s a blessing – but we do tend to outlive the general population. You might think your transformation painful but be assured that I’m positively cuddling you through it. Not everyone gets that privilege.” Martin’s mouth felt incredibly dry. _Stupid_, he thought, _stupid_. They did this to Peter as well, after all. Of course he was defending them. All the pain would be for nothing if he didn’t.

Martin didn’t know what to say so he did what he did best in moments of crisis: He got up and began to have a closer look at the tea set conveniently placed on one of the dressers. It was almost undistinguishable from a standard hotel set-up, although the electric kettle carried the name of a top brand. It gave a satisfied hum as he turned it on.

“Uhm, do you want some tea?” He was pulling open the drawers now, looking for something to actually _brew_ in this hour of need. Peter considered it for a moment before reaching for one of the top shelves.

“I know this is not what you usually drink but…” he trailed off, throwing an unopened box of PG Tips at Martin who almost dropped it. He glanced at the box and grimaced.

“No, it’s fine.” The lie was so transparent that Peter couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Can’t say that it makes much of a difference to me. I’ll take a cup, though, if you’re-“

“Oh, of course! Sorry.” Martin wasn’t even sure what he was apologizing for but that was nothing new to him. He poured Peter’s cup first – three sugars, no milk, absolute barbarian of a man – before breaking two small tubs of milk for himself, positively drowning his tea in it. He might not care much for this particular flavour but it sure comforted him to have a steaming hot cup in his hands. He gave a contended sigh as he watched Peter sip his tea, face finally relaxing a little. This was familiar ground – and much needed one at that. He didn’t want to feel bad for Peter or his nieces and nephews. He wasn’t sure if he could stop feeling bad for any of them if he’d allowed himself to start. Martin took a deep, calculated breath.

“So. What’s the plan for tonight? Any reunions I should be aware of?”

Peter scratched his head sheepishly.

“I think I’ll go for a walk, actually. Get some air. The ceremony is tomorrow afternoon so I won’t have to impose on you tonight. The family isn’t too keen on platitudes.” Martin scoffed.

“Of course.”

“You will have to lunch with us tomorrow, though. The ceremony will be immediately after and we should be able to get back to the car by 3pm. There won’t be much fuss.” Martin considered this for a moment.

“So you’ll go for a walk and I’ll just stay here, all alone in a house full of people feeding on loneliness, doing nothing but hope that none of them feel peckish?” Peter laughed.

“No, of course not. I’ve bought you a book. You always complain that you don’t have enough time to read, after all.” Martin wanted to argue that this really wasn’t the point right now but the volume Peter produced looked rather too nice to complain. He traced the cover with his fingers, taking in each bump of the letters.

“Thank you”, he said begrudgingly. Peter seemed impossibly smug when he left the room.

Martin put on the pyjamas Peter had picked out for him – he’d much prefer his own, worn but cosy – and settled into bed with his new book. It felt eerie, in a way, to be in someone else’s house, wearing clothes he hadn’t bought, with a book he hadn’t picked. Sure, it helped that the poetry was really good – he didn’t usually read contemporary poets but Peter had chosen surprisingly well – but it still felt incredibly lonely. No surprise there, of course. He spent hours reading and almost fell asleep before Peter returned. By the look on Peter’s face, he hadn’t expected Martin to be still awake. They looked at each other awkwardly for a moment before Peter tried to dazzle him with one of his false smiles.

“Don’t worry; you can keep the bed all to yourself. I just wanted to get my coat – It’s getting a little chilly in the gardens.” Martin frowned.

“It’s January, Peter. It’s already freezing in here; you can’t possible stay outside all night.” Peter opened his mouth in protest but Martin had enough. His voice grew snappy as he added: “I am cold and you are exhausted so can we please act like grown-ups and go to bed?” Peter started fidgeting with his gloves, much to Martin’s annoyance.

“I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep tonight.”

“For gods sake, Peter, sit down, you need to relax.” Peter’s face lit up with so much mischief that Martin barely recognized him any more. He watched Peter disappear into the walk-in-closet without explanation. A few coats found their way to the floor, sprawled across the meticulously polished tiles. There was a sound of triumph and Peter re-emerged with a little cigarette case.

“I poached these off Elias a decade or two ago. He hardly needed them anymore.” His eyes twinkled with an unshared joked. He sat down next to Martin and opened the case which very much did not contain cigarettes. “You don’t mind, do you? Here”, he offered the case to Martin who took one of the spliffs with a sceptic look.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“It’s a great idea.” Peter produced a lighter and lit one of the joints, gesturing for Martin to hand him his. Martin complied with a sigh. Maybe Peter was right. What was the worst that could happen?

A good half hour later, Peter was sprawled across the bed in nothing but his shirt and boxer shorts. He had started to change but got distracted halfway through unbuttoning his shirt. He had since gone off on a tangent about why National Rail was the true enemy of the Lonely and ought to be destroyed. It should have sounded menacing, really, but it was mostly endearing at this point. Martin could already feel his protective instincts kick in. He had long suspected Peter to be a mess beneath all the cold smiles and it was hard not to sympathise with this unusually open display of something close to vulnerability. Peter would gravely regret this in the morning, Martin was sure of it. Right now, though, he only reached up and gestured for Martin to hand him another spliff.

“No Peter, I think you’ve had enough.” Peter pulled a face that might have been a pout.

“C’mon. I’ve only had one.” Martin swatted Peter’s hand away.

“I haven’t even finished mine yet! You can have another when I’m done.” Peter’s lips twitched a little.

“Yes, Sir.” Peter rolled over onto his side, looking up at Martin from under his lashes. “You’re worse than Elias.” Martin gave Peter’s leg a good-natured kick.

“And you’re a flirt.” Peter gave a snorting laugh.

“I am as chaste as a choir boy. Never once tried to bring a girl home.” Martin rolled his eyes and finished his joint in silence. Not too long ago, he would have loved this, a chance to talk none-sense and joke around with friends. But Peter wasn’t his friend and there was no use in make-believe. He flicked the butt of his spliff into the empty bin. Peter sat up and made a grab for the box.

“We can share the next one”, he offered and Martin didn’t see the use of arguing. He did enjoy the calm that had settled over his senses and really, it wasn’t his job to talk sense into Peter. Martin let his eyes wander over the non-descript room as Peter tried and almost failed to use his lighter.

“There is room for so many people in this house”, Martin wondered aloud. Peter apparently felt the need to answer:

“As far as I know, there’s almost 150 Lukases staying here tonight. Most of them came from abroad, though. There’s only about 40 still living in the UK. We have a tendency towards travel.” Martin couldn’t help but nod open-mouthed.

“I always wanted a family like this. Well, not _exactly_ like this, but you know, a big one.” Peter took a deep drag and slumped against the head board.

“It’s not like we’d see much of each other, growing up. And we weren’t allowed to talk during family events. I used to pretend that I wasn’t related to any of them, that I had just toddled into the wrong house one day and that they’d kept me out of spite.” He huffed a dry laugh. “One time I tried to burn down father’s study because I thought the fire brigade would have one look at me and _know _that I wasn’t supposed to be there. The curtains caught fire easily enough but I hadn’t expected there to be _that_ much smoke. I managed to give myself carbon monoxide poisoning before I even realised that there were no smoke detectors in the room. So I lay there, suffocating, and I realized something. I realized that I was truly alone in this house. No one would help me and none would come to take me away to a picture book family. And you know what? It felt peaceful. I stopped fighting it, accepted that I was the only one who could safe me – and that was when I stepped into Forsaken for the first time. I got lost, of course. It took nearly a week to find my way back. I half expected to get a good thrashing for the arson but unsurprisingly, no one even acknowledged the fire or my absence when they saw me again. It was a little disappointing, to be honest, but it helped to drive the lesson home.”

“Wow. That’s… that’s…” Martin felt a little dizzy. He tried to blame it on the joint but it was hard to fool himself. A thought occurred to him. He pulled the duvet close around his shoulders. “Is… is the whole near-death-experience thing mandatory? I mean, Jon had one, and – I don’t want that.“ Peter gave a thoughtful hum.

“It’s not like you wake up someday, ready to serve your patron in every capacity. There are many small steps on this path and not everyone takes them at the same pace. Most people don’t even walk far enough to see what’s on the other end.”

“And you? You have – When did you –“ Peter sighed.

“I have been pledged to Forsaken since the day I was born but I didn’t start knowingly feeding it till I was in my twenties.” Martin licked his lips nervously. Peter could see the hairs on his arms stand up.

“You mean… you started killing when you were – God.” Martin was doing the mental maths and despite his somewhat compromised state of mind he realized how many people must have died at Peter’s hand by now. A question formed upon his brow.

“Jon, he needs the statements. So… do you – disappearing people, is that – the only way you can… feed?” Peter weighted his answer for a moment.

“No. But it is the most efficient one. Most satisfying, too. And we don’t just ‘disappear’ people. We sacrifice them.” Martin was lost for words for a moment, a silent, throbbing terror in his stomach. 

“Who was the first one?” There was a hardness in Peter’s eyes and Martin almost expected his question to go unanswered. Then, Peter exhaled audibly.

“I left home at 19. Went straight to sea, despite my fathers objections. One night, when we made port in Liverpool, someone followed me from the pub and – well, he hurt me quite badly. His ship was lost in a ravenous fog the very next morning. And it felt good, Martin, it felt _right_. It’s not that bad, really. You’ll see. It’s just like waking up.” He glanced at Martin who was by now positively cocooned into blankets, staring at him like a deer in the headlights. It was hard not to feel affection for the poor boy. “Cheer up, Martin. You’d think I took you to a funeral instead of a wedding.” Martin forced a thin smile.

“It certainly _feels_ like a funeral.”

“Oh stop it, now you’re sounding just like Elias.”

“Elias, Elias – I’m starting to think that you’d much rather have _him_ here.” Martin joked half-heartedly. Peter’s eyes grew distant.

“I used to take him to these things. Probably half the reason why I got uninvited, now that I’m thinking about it. Uncle Nathaniel must have started to worry that I’d put a ring on it. Not that there’s any danger of that.” Peter pulled a face. “I went to see Elias about the whole thing, you know? Thought we could get a good laugh out of it. I might have… well I might have suggested that marrying him would be worth it – just to get a rise out of Nathaniel, of course. And you know what he said?” His tone was dripping with bitterness as he mimicked Elias’ smooth voice: “‘I think you got a little worked up, _Peter_. Maybe you need some space, _Peter_.” He took another long drag, exhaling the steam with more control than Martin had mustered all evening. “What a prat.” Martin couldn’t help but smile at that.

“I can’t believe you’re soft on Elias, of all people.”

“I’m not _soft _on him”, Peter argued in an almost petulant tone. Martin scoffed.

“You basically asked him to marry you, though.”

“It’s not like I _want _him to be my husband”, Peter said in a less than convincing tone. “I just didn’t expect him to find the prospect _that_ unreasonable.” Martin reached out and touched Peter’s arm on instinct. Peter froze, fixing the point where they touched with furrowed brows. “You shouldn’t do that”, he said in the some unpersuasive voice, adding with a little more emphasis: “I don’t _need_ you to do that.” Martin only raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re not exactly hurrying to get away either, though, are you?” He watched Peter inhale deeply, almost as if to savour the touch while it lasted, before slowly pulling back. His head came to rest against the headboard with a soft _thump_.

“He isn’t even _watching_ me – I can tell by now and he’s not.” This spiked Martin’s interest.

“Wait, you can tell when…?” Peter nodded absentmindedly.

“We used to turn it into a game, you know. One good thing about shagging a Beholding type, I suppose. Never got around to figure out the whole web cam thing…” Martin put up a hand to stop Peter, ears burning red.

“God please, I don’t think I want to know that.” Peter wiggled an eyebrow at him.

“Oh come on what fun are these powers if we don’t shamelessly misuse them now and then? Besides, you can’t tell me you’ve never pictured Elias naked before. That arse is completely wasted on him.” Martin had to hide his face in his hands to cover his growing embarrassment. “Your archivist though…” Peter continued and Martin’s ears pricked up. “He’s cute, I give you that, in a stand-off-ish kind of way, but apart from that he has no redeeming features.” Now, Martin couldn’t let that stand, of course.

“He is a good man”, he shot back, very aware of how generic that must sound. “And his voice makes even the scariest stories sound like poetry and – and when he’s tired he ruffles his hair and…” his voice grew almost inaudibly quiet, “and he has dimples when he smiles.”

“Oh dear”, Peter exclaimed with a surprising amount of compassion. “It’s that bad, huh?” Martin let his head fall back against the headboard next to Peter’s.

“Yes.”

“You know that it’s not going to work out though, right?”

“Yeah.”

“He’s going to break your silly little heart.”

“Mh-hm.” He checked his phone again. Still no signal.

“Martin”, Peter said almost sternly. “You need to stop doing that. You don’t need him. You need no one. They are supposed to miss _you_, not the other way around. We’re Forsaken, alright? We make people shiver with existential horror with little more than the illusion of a touch. We serve a powerful patron who has gifted us with unimaginable strength. We don’t need men!” Peter exclaimed, gesturing wildly, very nearly scorching the sheets. “If he really cares about you he’ll _know_ where you are, anyway. But that’s just the point you, see, they never care as much about us as we care about them!” Martin’s phone buzzed gently, announcing that it had finally found a signal, however fragile.

All eyes were drawn to it. Martin’s whole body went very still.

“I should call him”, he whispered. Peter snatched the phone away before he got a chance to touch the screen.

“Didn’t you listen to anything I’ve just said? We’re better than that!” Martin tried to win his phone back but he lost his balance and almost fell off the bed. He collapsed on Peter’s lap, sob-giggling hysterically. The look of sheer surprise on Peter’s face didn’t make it any easier to stop. After a while, he felt Peter prod him experimentally. “You know you can’t stay there, right?” Martin shifted slightly, trying to find the perfect position.

“I used to think that you’re spooky.” It was a horrible thing to say to a literal fear monster but his filter had been gone for at least half a joint. Peter raised an eyebrow at him.

“I _am_ spooky.” Martin hummed thoughtfully.

“You don’t scare me anymore, though. Now you’re just making me sad.” A hurt look passed over Peter’s face but it was soon hid behind a bitter smile.

“That’s what I get for not sacrificing you to the Lonely, then? Oh yes, I would have, if Elias hadn’t told me not to.” There was a cruel edge to his voice that was just enough to make Martin shudder, despite his earlier assessment. He sat up silently, drawing the covers closer. They both spend a moment regretting what they’d just said. Martin was the first to break the silence:

“I miss Jon.”

“I know.”

“Like, miss him so much it hurts.” Peter felt the urge to reach out but managed to throttle it before his body betrayed him.

“I know. That’s what’s making you strong. You need to be strong for him.” Martin made a displeased sound.

“It’s not fair.”

“No, life rarely is.”

“If you’re going fortune cookie on me I might genuinely start to cry”. Peter huffed a laugh.

“Wouldn’t change anything, now would it? You'd still be alone and he’d still be in his institute. Watching. Always watching one thing or another but never looking at you. People like us aren’t meant to be seen, Martin. You might think that you want him to look at you but you don’t even know yet how painful that would be. You’re much better off without him.”

“You still want to snog Elias though, don’t you?” Martin was almost pouting now and Peter couldn’t stop looking at his lips. It would all be so much easier if he could just settle for Martin. He would be content with someone like that, resilient but kind. Oh, to be Lonely together, without the fighting and the prying and the pain… Peter turned his head to hide his expression. There was no chance of that happening and really, they'd probably just end up even more miserable than before.

“I’d probably punch him first but yeah I’d ‘snog’ him alright if only to spite him. If by snog you mean fuck over his desk till he stops talking.“ Martin couldn’t help but pull a face and almost burst into another giggling fit, threatening to keel over once more. Peter gave a good natured shove to avoid being misused as a pillow again. Then he added, in a surprisingly earnest tone:

“You don’t want to end up like me, Martin. You don’t have to hold up hopes for someone like him. We’re nothing to them, little more than an experiment to monitor. Forsaken might frown on affection, but Beholding will dissect it till there’s nothing left but chemicals and neuron signals. We’re a story, nothing more, and they have plenty of those stashed away already. When I fell for Elias, I fell hard, and I never managed to pick myself up afterwards. You can never let them know how much you care. They’ll use it against you just to see what happens next.”

“Jon is different”, Martin insisted but his voice grew less certain by the second.

“If anything he’s worse. Elias might force himself into my mind but he cannot control me. Should your archivist reach his peak, he’ll be able to compel you to say, to _do_ whatever he pleases. And sure, maybe that’s just what you like but I doubt it.”

“I just want… I don’t even know what I want anymore. I want Jon. That’s all I know. He makes me feel whole. He needs me.”

“Does he now?” Martin didn’t know what to say in response so he simply let himself fall onto the bed, feet against the headboard. Peter watched him with an unwarranted spark of fondness. It looked cosy, really, the way Martin was burying himself under the blankets, blatantly ignoring the fact that for all intends and purposes he was lying upside down. Peter listened to Martin’s breathing for a while before closing his eyes warily, painfully aware once more of how much the journey had exhausted him.

“I’m tired”, he announced to no one in particular as he sank down next to Martin. “Not just of feelings but in general. I want to sleep.” Martin hummed approvingly, snuggling closer to Peter for warmth. Peter tried to shift away instinctively but Martin was relentless.

“I’m _cold_”, he stressed, “and you’re _warm_.” Peter was too far gone to argue with that. It felt foreign to him, intrusive, but not necessarily in a bad way. His skin prickled were Martin was touching it but he took a deep satisfaction from the fact that Martin seemed to be just as touch-starved as him, going by his contented sigh.

*-*-*

Peter got up before the sun rose, careful to disentangle himself from Martin’s limbs without waking him. There were a few close calls but in the end he managed to slip into Forsaken without stirring Martin too much. The Lonely welcomed him back like the prodigal son he was. He could almost hear Elias’ snide remarks, chiding him for lingering too long, kissing him too gently. _You’ll end up like Evan_, Elias would say whenever Peter was being too much of a nuisance. _Your silly fancies will get you killed_. Maybe he was right. Peter had always been a little too nervous, a little too sentimental for his own good. He shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets, forcing himself to take deep breaths. There was no use in getting anxious now. He drew the Lonely closer around himself. It felt cold and soothing. He’d be lost without it.

Peter made his way towards the family crypt. As predicted, Nathaniel was leaning against one of the arches, taking in the slow rise of the sun. When he sensed Peter’s presence he pulled a face as though the sheer thought of talking to another being had thoroughly spoiled his morning.

“Come out, will you. I’m sure you have something to say. You usually do, after all.” Peter stepped out of Forsaken with a bowed head and a false smile.

“Good morning, Uncle Nathaniel. I hope it’s not too much of a bother that I invited myself?” The old man made a disgruntled noise.

“I don’t know what you expect to achieve by flaunting your boy-toy in my house. You know where I stand.”

“His name is Martin and he’s promising to become a powerful servant of our patron. Even Simon thinks so.”

“I couldn’t care less about what Simon Fairchild thinks. He has thoroughly spoiled you. I should never have started to invite him in the first place.” Peter forced his face to stay cordial.

“Oh, don’t let him hear that. He’d be much too pleased with himself if he knew how lasting you deem his influence.” Nathaniel glanced at Peter for the first time during their conversation.

“What are you here to say, Peter? I have no patience for your chatter.”

“The same as always, really. I’m asking you to let it go. I’m as much a member of this family as you are and I am doing my part. Bullying me into marriage would do neither of us any good.”

“You’re a grown man, Peter, even if you don’t act like one. You have a responsibility and ignoring it makes a mockery of everything we did for you.”

“Now, I’m sure you don’t mean that –“

“You’re a dead branch on the family tree, Peter. You would have been just as useful to me if you’d been smothered in your cradle.” Peter swallowed hard.

“Oh. Alright, then. Good talk.” There it was again, that treacherous quickening of his pulse which, he was quite certain, would one day be the end of him. His fingers curled into fists in a desperate attempt to fight off the panic attack that had been waiting to happen ever since Elias had broken up with him. Nathaniel clapped him on the shoulder. Peter felt slightly nauseous at the touch.

“Be reasonable, Peter”, and with that Nathaniel stepped into Forsaken leaving Peter thankfully, blissfully alone.

*-*-*

Martin woke to a still steaming cup of tea, a small pack of orange juice and two pre-packed sandwiches. There was a yellow sticky note next to the items, reading:

_Hi Martin - smiley face-_ (yes, he’d actually written it out instead of drawing one)

_Eat up! You’ll thank me later. Meet me downstairs at 11am. Clothes are on the dresser. Don’t forget the ring. _

_Love, Peter_

Aforementioned clothes were incredibly soft and fitted him astonishingly well. Peter must have had them custom-made, something Martin really didn’t want to think too much about. It still spooked him a little with how much abandon Peter threw his money around. His stomach turned a little as he slipped the ring on his finger. He was somewhat surprised to find that it wasn’t quite his size. Martin’s brow furrowed. He gave the silver-y little thing a closer look. It was elegant but simple and a little dull, as though it had been in that box for a long, long time. Martin couldn’t help but wonder if Peter had intended to give it to Elias, initially, but never worked up the courage. Or maybe he _had_ given it to Elias once and it had long been returned to him following one petty fight or another. After everything Peter had told him last night he wouldn’t be surprised either way. Martin took a moment to inspect himself in the tall bathroom mirror. He didn’t usually wear suits (even though Peter had tried to talk him into it more than once) and it felt a little strange to see himself like this, draped in navy blue. He felt a little breathless, caught somewhere between anxiety and the fact that the double-breasted waistcoat was unexpectedly snug against his chest. Besides, it felt wrong to wear the ring. Every fibre of his body protested this masquerade. For just a moment he thought about taking his things and leaving this dreadfully sullen place. Then he felt guilty. He used to be someone to be relied upon, someone who wouldn’t steal away to avoid responsibilities. Well, things had changed. These past few months had taught him how to fade in and out of reality in more ways than one. And the worst part was that it felt incredibly freeing, a weight taken off his shoulders. He hated himself for how easy avoidance came to him these days. His reflection seemed dreadfully dull to him, entirely drained of colour. He almost tripped over his own feet when he hurried to leave the room.

Peter wasn’t waiting in the hall. Martin fought down a surge of unease. He was pretty certain that Peter wouldn’t just leave him here but the presence of Forsaken had seeped so deeply into the fundament of the house that it was hard not to imagine it. When Peter finally stepped out of the Lonely he wore a sheepish expression.

“There you are! I didn’t mean to make you wait, I promise.” Peter offered him his arm and Martin took it begrudgingly.

“Let me guess: Urgent family business?” Peter gave a forced chuckle.

“Bit of a row with Uncle Nathaniel”, he said confidentially. “Wasn’t as cathartic as I’d hoped but at least he didn’t insist that we leave.” Martin scoffed but didn’t argue.

The room Peter led him into was huge, almost bigger than the entry hall. The Lukas family sat at a long table, gray and dull and lifeless. No one looked at them when they entered. Martin felt his stomach drop. He was thankful for Peter’s arm now, digging his fingers in deeper than strictly necessary. They had to cross almost the entire room, past what seemed to be the children’s corner all the way down to were the older Lukases sat. At the very end of the table, Martin caught sight of what must have been Nathaniel Lukas, cold eyed and stiff shouldered. His glare wasn’t directed at anyone in particular but Martin felt quite certain that he was not welcome here. The only person who turned their head towards them was a nervous looking man, about Martin’s age. The unfortunate groom, Martin realized and felt a hot surge of guilt. He had been so involved with his own doubts that he hadn’t even spared a single thought for the man who was to be entrapped here today. Martin tried to swallow the emotion, tried to numb himself against the certainty that the groom was little more than a lamb to the slaughter. Peter pulled out a chair for him, right next to a pale brunette who raised her eyebrows at them in a wordless question. Peter’s smile was painfully pleasant as he took Martin’s hand and entwined their fingers.

“Constance, this is Martin. Martin, this is Constance, my youngest cousin.” She gave him a dismissive once-over.

“Rather chubby, isn’t he?” Martin felt his face flush burning red. Peter’s hold on his hand tightened.

“I would have thought you of all people would be careful with such tasteless insults. How _is_ you son doing, Constance? He might have starved himself to death for all you know, I assume.” Her mouth became a very thin line.

“Careful, Peter. We’ve all had our childish plays at rebellion and we’ve still found the way to our patron. This is no different.” Peter shrugged half-heartedly.

“We’ll see, won’t we?”

“Peter.” Nathaniel Lukas barely raised his voice but the single word held enough sternness to make up for it. Martin felt Peter flinch slightly and was almost surprised as Peter didn’t heed the warning, leaning closer to his cousin instead, a glint in his eye as he said:

“We’d better keep quiet, Constance, or we’ll have to stand in the corner again.” There was a muffled giggle from the children’s side of the table and then a loud thump as Nathaniel’s fist connected with the table. Martin could see the groom startle and turn his undivided attention towards his plate. 

“You’ll be quiet now, Peter. I will not have you disturb the children.” Martin half expected Peter to argue but all he did was lower his head with a bitter smirk, returning his attention to the meal at hand. Martin couldn’t bring himself to touch much of the stale food but felt too awkward to leave it all. He ended up pushing it around his plate for most of the meal, feeling incredibly thankful for the breakfast Peter had gotten him from who knows where. They finished their meal in silence. No one stood until the head of the family pushed his plate away. Nathaniel Lukas got up wordlessly and the other family member’s followed his example. Martin felt himself drawn closer to Peter, who had grasped his hand in silent defiance.

The ceremony itself was as short as it was unsettling. Martin noticed the groom shift anxiously under the silent stares of the assembled family members. It was hard not to sympathise. His wife-to-be didn’t try very hard to soothe his tension. Her smile was so faint that it was easy to miss and her eyes seemed empty to Martin. She was pretty, sure, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why someone would have agreed to marry her. Everything about her was dull and grey and Lonely. No wonder Peter watched her with such fondness. The groom was probably as thankful as Martin was about the utter lack of speeches and congratulations. It only took a few hard words from Nathaniel and a blessing from what must have been the most ill at ease rabbi Martin had ever seen. The bride kissed the groom with icy lips under the pale wedding canopy. One by one the Lukases stood and left the hall. Martin could feel the by now familiar icy rush of abandonment curl in his stomach and was rather relieved to be merely a guest in this ceremony. He was almost thankful when Peter took his hand once more and tugged gently, indicating that it was their turn to move past the newly wedded couple, leaving them to their lonely fate.

Peter didn’t speak as they made their way back to the entry hall. He nodded at some of his relatives with a smile not that dissimilar from the one his niece had worn only moments ago. Martin had expected everyone to uphold their sullen silence but instead he caught bits and pieces of small talk, so insubstantial that even silence would have been more comforting. He only remembered that he was still holding Peter’s hand when Simon Fairchild nudged him with a bony elbow.

“I see you’ve forgiven Peter for letting me do his dirty work.” Martin pulled his hand back so quickly that Peter barely had time to let go.

“Hello Mr. Fairchild”, Martin said from between his teeth.

“Simon, my boy, you know its Simon. Now Peter, look at you! I know, I know I said he’s a little young for you but he looks much better at your side than that dreadful Bouchard.”

“Simon!” Peter seemed almost embarrassed. It was a strange look on him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

“No, not really. Your dear old uncle Nathanael isn’t talking to me because of that slight mishap on ‘his’ space station. Hah, the insolence. As for the rest of the family”, he let his gaze wander for a moment, pulling a face. “Lovely people but dreadful conversationalists, wouldn’t you agree Martin?” He found himself glancing at Peter and almost regretted letting go of his hand. It would have been something to hold on to, at the very least. Part of him was screaming to bite his tongue but the other decided to screw it.

“I’ve had no reason to complain until you joined us”, Martin said through tight lips. Simon’s laugh sounded rather condescending.

“I assure you, my dear boy, you’d find me much more entertaining if you’d allow me to take you for that roller coaster ride I promised you.” Peter pulled a face.

“Please, Simon. Martin is my guest. I would appreciate it if you didn’t threaten to sacrifice him.”

“What are the odds, Peter”, Simon exclaimed. “He’s got you tamed and collared already! Delightful!” His wink made Martin feel dirty. “Well, I won’t disturb you two lovebirds, then. As you were.” He gave Peter a mock salute and headed towards a group of unsuspecting young Lukases. Peter exhaled.

“Sorry about that.” Martin made a dismissive sound.

“He’s a horrid little man.” This earned him a rather conflicted look from Peter.

“He tells the best stories. And he’s always been kind to me.” Martin was about to reply something rather snide when a willow-thin, white-haired woman approached and poked Peter with her walking stick. Her dress looked old-fashioned – proper old-fashioned, Edwardian – and her eyes had a gleam in them.

“You know, just because they allow you people to marry nowadays doesn’t mean you should.”

“Good to see you too, Auntie Adeline. Rahel sure is a pretty bride, isn’t she?” The old woman made a noise that might have been agreement. She didn’t take her eyes off Peter as she nodded towards Martin.

“That one’s not ready. You’ll break him.”

“Well see about that, won’t we?” Martin’s mouth fell open in protest, unsure which side he ought to be on in this argument. Peter shushed him with a warning glance. The women scoffed.

“At least he’s behaving himself.” She pushed past them, hunched over her cane. Martin took a deep breath.

“What did she mean?” He hiss-whispered. “Breaking me?” Peter nudged his shoulder in false comradery.

“She’s a bit overprotective, is Auntie Adeline. She _liked_ you.”

“What gave you that impression?” It was impossible not to sound dry.

“Well, when I brought Elias for the first time she emptied a saucer in his lap. I think you’re doing rather well, in comparison.”

“What, isn’t Elias everyone’s ideal son in law?” Peter chuckled.

“You’ve met him, right? He’s insufferable. Besides, we might be allied with Beholding but that doesn’t change that our Patrons are in many ways opposed to each other. There is a reason why loving them hurts this much.” Martin forced a smile. He could feel himself harden against Peter’s words without wanting to. Peter changed the subject without waiting for a response. “I’m heading for the bar. Do you want a drink?” Martin shook his head in silence.

Peter made his way through the crowd without bumping into a single person. Everyone was so keen on avoiding contact that it was almost effortless to cross the room, despite the sheer mass of people. His skin still prickled mildly where it had touched Martin’s during the night, like his limps were threatening to fall asleep. It was an uncomfortable reminder of how sloppy he had become. It would make him feel deliciously Forsaken the next morning, when he’d wake up alone in his all too large bed but for now it was just plain unpleasant. He grabbed a glass of champagne and took a careful sip. His hands were a little shaky and he didn’t fancy spilling it all over himself. The champagne had almost no taste to it. It barely surprised him. Nathanael had always managed to suck the fun out of everything he touched. Elias had always complained about the catering at Moorland House. He’d rather starve than touch the food, he’d often say, scowling at Peter for the mere suggestion of dining there. One time he had ordered takeout to the manor, some ghastly cheap stuff dripping with gravy, making a show out of how much better he deemed it than the expensive but bland dishes Moorland House excelled at. The delivery boy had gotten lost in the Lonely on his way back. Peter had often suspected that Elias played up the obnoxiousness whenever he was interacting with the Lukases, too petty to be professional about it. Peter loved these little human streaks in Elias, no matter how cruel. They made him seem so much more approachable. There were moments when Peter wondered if Elias was too far gone to care about their trysts. It had been years, decades even, since he last caught Elias smoking in his office – a left over quirk, no doubt, from the one whose name he stole – and it had been almost as long since Elias had looked at him with anything but mild exasperation. He was a sucker for the pain, of course, but the older he got the more exhausted he felt after kissing Elias. He downed the remains of his champagne and let his eyes wander. His thoughts kept returning to Elias and the cold expression he had worn. _Maybe you need some space, Peter._ He had to force himself to exhale, trying to will the sadness away with rather disappointing results. His eyes had burned when Elias had ended it but he’d been too proud to let it show. _Did you really think this would last?_ Elias had asked cruelly, twisting the knife. Maybe Elias was right. It had been doomed from the beginning. He had nothing to offer Elias except the occasional romp. Peter forced himself to concentrate on the wedding guests, tried to inhale the Loneliness that clang to them. It should have been a feast but today it was merely a reminder of his own pathetic pain. He could feel his pulse quicken again. His chest felt too tight and he could have sworn the room was much fuller than it had been a second ago. The subdued chatter throbbed in his ears and it was getting harder to breath by the second. His stomach was twisting in a familiar way and he knew that he had to get out of here before someone noticed.

*-*-*

There was a soft tug on Martin’s sleeve, so faint he would have ignored it if it hadn’t been followed by second, more insistent one. When he looked down, he saw the pigtailed girl from the day before, this time in the company of a bored looking teenage boy. He had the smell of cigarettes clinging to him and Martin had to fight the instinct to comment on it. He had the faint suspicion that the Lukas’ family didn’t care too much about underage smoking.

“Uhm… Hullo?” Martin offered, looking down at the girl. He couldn’t remember her name. “Can I help you?” She worried her lower lip, glancing up to the boy for guidance. He scowled a little, careful not to meet her eye.

“She wants to know if it’s true that you’ll marry Uncle Peter.”

“Oh!” Martin exclaimed and then immediately lowered his voice, careful not to draw attention. “Uhm, no, we’re not... I mean –“

“See? Happy now?” The boy didn’t even bother acknowledging Martin, offering the girl his hand. She flinched away as though he’d threatened to hit her. A flash of guilt passed over both their faces. The boy glanced nervously over his shoulder, only relaxing a little when he was sure no one had noticed. Martin felt cold.

“Can I ask you something?” The boy just glared at him but the girl bit her lower lip in excitement. Martin cleared his throat. “How… how often do you get together like this? The whole family?” The boy shrugged.

“Once, twice a year. Why?”

“And you don’t… spend time together apart from that?” The boy scoffed.

“What for? We see our parents if we need to. I see my sisters now and then. We’re good.” He didn’t sound ‘good’ and the girl certainly didn’t look ‘good’ either but she nodded weightily. Martin had never felt so dirty, so complicit in all his life. His childhood had been lonely and straining and painful. The only thing that had kept him going was the knowledge that it wasn’t done to him on purpose. Bad things just happened to Martin Blackwood. But these children were different. Did they know that all their pain was one big sacrifice to a patron they were meant to serve one day? Martin felt sick. He was almost thankful when Peter approached and the children scattered away.

“You alright, Martin? Looking a bit pale there. How about an early exit, hm? I think we’ve both had more than enough socialising for one day.” He offered Martin his arm who took it instinctively. He let himself be led towards the front door and forced himself not to look back. It was warmer outside than Martin had expected – or maybe the Lukases had truly chilled him to the bone. The shy sunbeams felt good against his skin. They seemed more real than anything inside the house had. The limousine was already waiting for them. Martin couldn’t for the life of him tell if it was the same driver as yesterday. He didn’t feel the need to talk and neither, it seemed, did Peter, whose whole body was tense and slightly hunched in a way Martin had never seen on him before. They drove in silence until the car came to a halt near the port of Dover. Peter got out first, opening the door for Martin with a stale smile. Martin watched the car drive off as Peter shouldered their bags. A question formed and forced itself out before Martin could help himself:

“Doesn’t it bother you that your closest connection is with people who would much rather be alone than spend time with you?” Peter shrugged.

“I don’t care about them. They’re family, nothing more. I’m perfectly happy all on my lonesome and so are they – that’s rather the point isn’t it? I _enjoy_ solitude. Sure, it is nice to chat now and then but I’d rather spend the rest of my existence in the deepest depths of Forsaken than be forced to live a noisy human life among other noisy humans who pretend to care for each other.”

“You know, I almost believe that you mean that.” Peter gave him a funny look but didn’t try to correct him. He offered his arm to Martin who shook his head. “I think I’ll be trying to catch the train, actually. I… I need time to think.” Martin leaned forward and kissed Peter on the cheek. He was clearly taken by surprise, judging by the way he touched his face once Martin stepped back. Peter cleared his throat.

“I’ll see you in the office, then.”

Martin made a non-commited humming sound and started to take off the ring. Peter stopped him mid-motion with a dismissive gesture.

“Keep it. Let’s call it a souvenir, shall we? Maybe you’ll find someone to put it on, someday.” Martin paused and opened his mouth but he couldn’t find the words so he closed it again, unsatisfied. Peter only smiled darkly and nodded him goodbye.

It was strangely comforting to be alone at last, after these rather crowded 24 hours. Martin took a deep breath, savouring the cold coastal air. He glanced at his phone.

3 missed calls from Jonathan Sims.

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Ottermouse who had to listen to me complain about this fic for three months straight. 
> 
> As always, I’m @simaraknows on tumblr and the comment section is where you’re allowed to yell at me.


End file.
